Another weird story.
I went to a speed dating event in fall of 2008 — a “Cougar” speed dating event — it turned out to be a lot of Plain Janes and heavyset and black and Asian women in their 30′s and 40′s and very few men.
The first woman I was matched with was an angular, slightly uptight woman in her mid- 40′s. Think Meryl Streep’s odd sister. Hair up or pulled back (not a good look for a dating event). Her name was the name of a very popular nonsensical children’s song in the 60′s — like “Mahna Mahna Ma.” Apparently her older sister couldn’t stop singing the song and kept pointing to her — as a newborn — and her parents just named her “Mahna.” It was the Sixties and it sounded vaguely exotic so they went for it.
I happened to know the daughter of the guy who wrote the song she was named after and mentioned it straight away which got her attention.
She was an odd bird, this woman — an artist who made weird things out of balsa wood and painted them. Recently divorced, she was living with her sister and their kids. There was something vaguely attractive about her even though her features were bird-like — she was pretty witty which was a nice change.
Then our 3 or 4 minutes were up and the speed dating went on. When it was over, we ended up walking out together and she was 5’10 (something you don’t notice at speed dating where all the women remain seated.). I walked her to her car. She awkwardly gave me her number.
We made a date. She meets me for coffee across the street and wow — she looked amazing — her hair was down, she was wearing a tight white stretchy shirt and was unusually busty — something I hadn’t noticed before. She was still a little weird — I couldn’t put my finger on it — definately some depression in her history (I think we both might have bonded over that)…
I thought about it for a day and then sent her an e-mail. I was attracted to her, but she seemed weird and our rhythms seemed off. But I wanted to fool around with her. So, I tried something that strangely worked before — I sent her e-mail that said I was attracted to her, but felt we weren’t boyfriend/girlfriend material, but still strongly drawn to her and didn’t know where she was in her life and didn’t mean to offend her, but if she wanted to “explore” that purely physical attraction, I was game.
She e-mailed me back — she was in!
We made a date for her to come over my apartment. Here’s where it all went wrong.
She shows up, hair pulled back or up, wearing a smells-slightly-musty old lady sweater. As soon as she came in I felt there was something wrong. She sits on the couch, I ask her if she wants some wine? She says yes, I go into the fridge a take out a bottle of white.
I hold it out to her and ask if white is OK.
Her response: “Is that the wine you use to get women drunk with?”
You know those stories where a guy is on a date with a woman and she’s willing / about to sleep with him and then he says something so incredibly stupid, her libido takes a nose drive and she is done, done, done. All her good feelings and desire for sex just gets wiped clean like a shaken Etch-A-Sketch? Well, that’s exactly how I felt. It just flew out of me. I totally got that.
“Um, no….it’s the wine I cook with.”
We sit on the sofa and she moves to the OPPOSITE END of my 8 foot couch and we watch the documentary “King of Kong.” She’s being really prickly, she’s like a few feet away from me, I don’t know what’s going on, so I figure I’ll let her drink her wine to come off the ceiling.
About 20 minutes in, she pops: “Hey! I don’t get what’s going on here — you invited me over to fool around and we are just watching this movie!”
Kinda expecting this, I said very calmly: “Look, I don’t know what’s going on either — you’re sitting on the other end of the couch, you made that crack about me getting women drunk — you don’t seem like you want to be here at all.”
She acknowledged this — said she was nervous, said she wanted to be there.
I said, okay, well, let’s kiss and see what happens.
We are standing up at this point and I kiss her — and NOTHING. Absolutely nothing. Plus I got a wiff of that sweater.
“I’m sorry, I’m not feeling it” I said or something like that and she literally fled my apartment. Like within seconds of me saying that.
I’m not proud of all this, but I think this woman, conciously or unconciously sabotaged our make out session. The hair, the sweater, the wine crack, the couch distance. I mean, if you were going over someone’s home to specifically sexually “explore” with them, wouldn’t you dress a little sexy? Act a little sexy?
Luckily, I don’t hear that 60′s kid song much.